


Clueless

by Watch_this



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff, Getting Together, Harley being a good friend, I just wanted to write something cute ok, Jon being oblivious, M/M, little bit of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:09:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24668926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watch_this/pseuds/Watch_this
Summary: 5 times Jonathan was totally, reluctantly, attracted to the Riddler, and 1 time Edward did something about it
Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma
Comments: 5
Kudos: 85





	Clueless

**Author's Note:**

> Just an old fic I wrote a while ago and decided to unearth, fossil-like, edit, and post.

1:  
For all of Edward Nygma’s temper tantrums and yelling, he was not someone Jonathan Crane had ever thought of as a physically violent person. Cruel, yes absolutely. Many times, he’d seen Edward take vindictive pleasure in crushing peoples’ last hopes, or occasionally their bones if Edward had them in one of his death traps. But he also wouldn’t exactly be a person Jonathan associated with getting his hands dirty himself.

So it came as somewhat of a surprise when he walked into the old warehouse they’d been using as base for the last few weeks to see one of Edward’s henchmen tied to a chair, and a fierce light in Edward’s eyes.

The rest of the men were stood to one side, watching nervously. None of them dared to whisper. Edward looked up as Jonathan walked in.

“Jonathan!” He called out, tapping his cane on the floor with one hand. “How nice of you to join us. You’re just in time. You see, Tommy here,” he jabbed at the man tied to the chair with the end of his cane. The man whimpered. “Tommy here has been a little too generous with his own portions while dividing up the profits. And had the balls,” Edward growled, “to try and lie about it afterwards. And to lie badly.”

Jonathan tugged at the sleeves of his jacket, to better expose the needles strapped to his arm underneath. “Want me to make an example of him?” He asked, casually as he could. He didn’t care much about the money, but if Edward wanted the unlucky bastard to face consequences, he could arrange that.

“No.” Edward smiled, and it was an evil, vicious look that sent a shudder down Jonathan’s spine that he couldn’t even convince himself was fear. “No, I’ll deal with this one myself.” He drew his cane back, and in one smooth arc swung it like a golf club straight into the unfortunate man’s stomach. The man doubled over as best he could with the ropes binding him, and groaned. Edward drew his cane back again and struck him again, and again, punctuating his hits with the words “Still – think – you – can – outsmart – the – Riddler?” His carefully slicked back hair had fallen out of place, his face was flushed, and blood from the man’s freshly broken nose had spattered over him.

Jonathan stood stock still, watching. The fear of the man tied to the chair, and of the others huddled toward the back of the warehouse watching in silence, was palpable. And there was Edward, stood over the man, beating him to a bloody pulp. Totally out of control. Terrifying everybody here.

There was a loud cracking noise, and for a moment Jonathan was sure it was one of the unfortunate man’s larger bones. But then he saw one half of Edward’s cane go sailing past, and Edward glancing half-confused at the end still in his hand. He chucked it after the other end, pulled an emerald green handkerchief out of one pocket, and dabbed at the sweat that had gathered on his forehead delicately. "Get him out of here” he said, waving one hand at the beaten man.

He sauntered over to Jonathan, who was leaning casually against one wall, and trying his best not to look as though it was because that little show had practically left him weak at the knees. “Sorry to spoil your fun, Crane” Edward said. “Just couldn’t resist blowing off some steam.”

They both glanced back to the centre of the room, where three of the other men had hoisted the beaten man up between them, and were trying to carry him out without touching the worst of his injuries.

Jonathan tried his best to not think of a single other context for the phrase “blow off some steam”. There was no way Edward Nygma was allowed to make him feel this distracted, just because of one show of casual violence. If that was all it took to get him hot and bothered, Crane reasoned, he should be horny for half the Rogues Gallery by now. Which he certainly was not.

Edward slicked back his hair, and adjusted his sleeve cuffs. “Right” he said, and quick as that, his rage was over. “Come with me, I’ve got an idea for a plan I want to go over.”  
Jonathan picked himself up off the wall, and reminded himself that Edward was a colleague, nothing more. And in their line of work, colleagues were complicated enough without getting tangled up in anything else. This was just surprise, since he’d never seen Edward get violent before. Nothing more than surprise.

2:  
Over the next couple of days Jonathan did his best to not think about Edward Nygma, a task made trickier by the fact that they were temporarily working together. Meaningless temporary physical attraction as a result of getting to know a person better was an observed psychological phenomenon. There was not reason it had to mean anything else.  
Besides, he had plenty to distract himself with. The next heist they were planning was set for four days’ time, and Jonathan had spent the last who knew how long in what served for his current laboratory, slaving away over test tubes and Bunsen burners. Yawning, he took off his lab goggles and rubbed at tired eyes with one hand. He badly needed some coffee. Strong coffee.

Blinking at the sudden change from his lab’s fluorescent lights in the corridor outside, Jonathan shuffled off towards the temporary kitchen. Someone had left coffee in the coffee machine, so he grabbed a mug and poured some out. It was black as tar and steadily going cold, and exactly what he needed right now.

His phone buzzed, quiet but insistent. He knew it had been a mistake to get one of the damn things. Glancing at the screen, he saw one text from “?”: Since you’re getting coffee, can you bring me some?

Sighing, Jonathan hunted around for another mug. He was sure the surveillance cameras in the building were doing some kind of useful job, but so far this bullshit was all Edward had been using them for.

Now equipped with caffeine, Jonathan started the trek through the building to the corner Edward had camped out in, following the sounds of muttering, and occasional curses.   
Nudging open a door near the end of the corridor – after knocking, he’d learned to knock after accidentally sneaking up on Edward one too many times – he looked in to see Edward hunched over on the floor, eyes fixed on the four computer screens that were dimly illuminating him with light, typing furiously on the keyboard in his lap.

Edward didn’t look up when Jonathan came in, didn’t even stop typing. He looked like a wreck. He’d undone his particularly hideous green shirt to show a grey undershirt, sticking to him in places. His hair stuck up wildly from running his fingers through it too many times, and his glasses were sliding down his nose. And he looked alive, concentrating with an intensity that could only come from a real fascination with whatever he was doing. Jonathan felt vaguely like he was intruding.

“Coffee?” Asked Edward, and he tipped his head back to look Jonathan dead in the face. Jonathan felt his face flush with heat, and tried to pretend he hadn’t been staring. “Uh, yeah” he managed, and thrust the mug into Edward’s outstretched hand. His eyes strayed to the pile of other mugs abandoned nearby, and the way Edward’s hands were shaking slightly now that he’d stopped typing. “How many of those have you had today?” He asked.

Edward shrugged. “Maybe nine? Twelve? Not enough to start seeing double, so not enough to be worrying." Glancing back, he saw Jonathan still watching him from the doorway. “Stay and watch if you want,” Edward told him with a smirk, “but I’m going to have to start charging you for staring.”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Jonathan twitched, and stalked out of the room. So much for not being caught.

3:  
Since his little “maybe, just maybe, I’m attracted to Edward Nygma” moment, Jonathan had come to several realisations. The first was that he was royally fucked if he didn’t stop this from developing into real attraction. Jonathan was socially awkward at the best of times, he didn’t need a crush on a colleague to help. And besides, Edward was one of the smartest men in Gotham City – Jonathan was kidding himself if he thought he could hide a crush from Edward’s deductive skills for long. The second was that, even for someone who prided himself on studying emotional responses, developing crushes were proving surprisingly hard to get rid of. And situations like this one weren’t helping.

They were at a party, ostensibly so that Edward could gather intelligence on the running of the Gotham Museum of Art, though Jonathan didn’t see why that meant he had to come as well. Right now he was stood off to one side, uncomfortable in the suit he’d been forced into, watching Edward work.

He wasn’t making a scene, wasn’t even talking loud enough to be heard where Jonathan stood, but he was wearing a soft little condescending smile, and standing in the centre of a growing crowd. Every now and then he’d lean in, say something with a raised eyebrow, and the lot of them would laugh. Most of the group was hanging off his every word.   
Jonathan struck by the thought that, when he really wanted to be, Edward could be disconcertingly charming.

He watched as Edward took a drink from the glass he was holding – miming tipping his head back more than really drinking, they were both working after all – and make another casual comment that sent the rest of the group into another round of laughter. Even from this far away, Edward’s charm was working on him as well.

A disturbance at the other end of the room drew his eyes – Bruce Wayne was entering the party, arm round the latest supermodel to catch his eye. Jonathan watched as Edward’s group started to disperse toward the newcomer, and Edward came sidling over to him instead. He cast Bruce a look of dislike. “Come on Jonathan, let’s go” Edward said. “I’ve gotten what I needed anyway, and it’ll be no fun now Gotham’s most eligible attention whore has shown up.”

Choosing to ignore the irony of the comment, Jonathan followed Edward out toward one of the back doors. Once they were safely outside and out of earshot of the party, Jonathan loosened his tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves, ignoring the chill of the night air. “Thank god that’s over with. How the hell you can stand to wear a suit like this all the time is beyond me.”

Edward just shrugged, grinning at Jonathan’s discomfort. “Could be much worse. Imagine what it’d be like if I wore something like Selina’s catsuit.”

Jonathan shook his head slightly, trying very hard to not imagine how Edward might look in anything slinky and formfitting, something that would show off his figure so well…  
He hurried after Edward, hoping he wouldn’t think anything of Jonathan’s momentary distraction.

4:  
If anyone at Arkham had ever been interested in seriously helping Edward, then in Jonathan’s professional opinion the first thing they should have done would be to help him come up with a couple of coping mechanisms for his OCD. Then again, in Jonathan’s professional opinion the best thing for most of the Arkham staff would be a sudden introduction to Killer Croc while he was especially hungry. And especially pissed off.

It was a couple of hours before the heist really began, and there was nothing much to do except get kitted out, and wait for nightfall. Edward was writing in a small notebook. The pages were already packed with writing, small cramped text overlapping in places. He was muttering to himself, lips slowly moving as he wrote, and Jonathan overheard “riddle me this, what is… No, no, not right” and the hurried scratching of something being crossed out.

Knowing Edward would never forgive him if he embarrassed the Riddler in front of the henchmen milling around the place, he nudged Edward’s foot and said “Hey, go over the plan with me one more time? Just make sure I’ve got it right, what happens after we get in the building?”

Edward stops writing, and his eyes narrow. “You know the plan” he says, suspiciously. You wrote half of…” He trails off, as he looks down at the notebook still in hand, and Jonathan watches him do the math. “Fine, once more” he says, pocketing the notebook. “Once we’re inside, you head down to meet the security guard – he should be near the Pre-Raphaelite section by that point in his rounds…”

Jonathan half tunes out Ed’s voice, watching as his tapping fingers slow and stop all together as he talks through the plan. Distraction is the cheapest trick in the book, and certainly not a long term solution, but it still leaves him feeling worryingly warm to watch Edward calm down.

5:  
Post successful heist, and Jonathan and Edward are in the Iceberg Lounge, celebrating. Edward’s most definitely drunk, laughing at everything, slurring his words, and leaning on the table for support. As usual he’s attracted a small crowd, though Jonathan’s a part of that crowd this time, drawn in by Edward’s charm like moths toward a lamp.

Even Jonathan’s a little drunk by this point, relaxed enough to allow himself a few drinks. Edward gets up to head for the bar, and Harley grabs his stool as soon as it’s free. “Heya, Crane!” she says, bright as ever. “How’re ya?”

He’s known Harley since they were both slaving over their psychology doctorates together, so he’s used to her energy by this point. So this, and the fact that it’s been a while since the last time he drank, are the reasons he trusts her enough to say “Boy trouble.”

Harley takes a swig of the alarmingly blue concoction she’s drinking. “Do ya mean ‘he’s a real cutie and I’m a creepy guy wearin’ a sack on my head’ troubles, or ‘my spooky scary vape cloud isn’t knockin’ him out fast enough’ troubles?”

Jonathan slumps down on the table, aware of how sticky it is on his forearms. “The first one. And I don’t think it’s the costume that’s going to be my biggest problem.”

Harley patted his hair reassuringly, then made a face. “Ooh, he’s into the costume? Maybe that’s ya bigger problem honey. Who’s the mystery charmer anyway?”

“He’s -” Jonathan hastily cut himself off as Edward made his way back over. Seeing Harley had taken his seat and had no intention of getting up again, he made a show of looking around for another one. Then he turned back to Jonathan, and in an exaggeratedly innocent voice asked “do you mind, Doctor Crane? It’s just that I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

Jonathan made a sort of spluttering noise at the sudden use of “Doctor Crane”, then another equally articulate noise when Edward sat down on his lap instead. Edward wrapped one arm casually round his shoulders to keep himself steady on Jonathan’s lap, and shifted so he could still see the rest of the group. Jonathan made eye contact with Harley, and saw her understanding dawn as she spotted the blush he could feel making its way up his cheeks. She grinned at him, gleefully, and winked.

He tried his best not to concentrate on her, which wasn’t difficult with a lapful of happy, drunken Edward. He could smell the man’s cologne, and feel the softness of the green suit he’d donned for the evening, as well as the firmness of his body underneath. His hair was starting to curl at the ends where the product he’d slicked it down with was coming off, and when he laughed, it was right by Jonathan’s ear.

All Jonathan could think was that he hoped, desperately hoped, that this was just a joke that Edward wouldn’t remember in the morning.

+1:  
Jonathan woke up around noon the next day, disorientated after sleeping deeper than he was used to, and tried to piece together what had happened the night before. Making a face at how stiff he felt, he shoved the sheets aside and reached for a shirt, before stumbling through his apartment, looking for coffee.

Walking into his living room, he came to the sudden, alarming realisation that Edward was passed out on his couch. Out for the count. Drooling slightly in his sleep. Honestly, it was kind of endearing.

His next thought was panic. How quickly and quietly could he tidy the apartment? He should at least try and hide the random pile of laundry, and move the heap of books off the carpet. He began making a stack of abandoned notes, in vain hopes of at least disguising how much mess there was.

The sound of his movements apparently weren’t stealthy enough to avoid waking Edward however, who looked over at him, blinking owlishly without his glasses or contacts. There was an awkward pause. “Sorry about the mess” Jonathan said.

Edward laughed. “I’m not wearing my glasses right now Crane.” He said. “You could tell me batman was hanging from the ceiling fan, and I’d have to just take your word for it.” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes with one hand, and grimaced. “You got any coffee? My mouth feels like something crawled in there and died.”

How was Edward so casual about waking up in his apartment? “Sure,” Jonathan said. “Kitchen’s just down there.” He ditched the pile of paper, resigned. “You remember much of last night?”

Edward winced. “Quieter?” He asked, pleadingly. “Not as much as I should, if the number of text notifications I've got is anything to go by.”

Jonathan feels a weight drop into his stomach. He knows Edward “I’ll flirt with a teapot if left alone with nothing else” Nygma won’t be weirded out by anything he’ll be accused of after spending the night on Jonathan’s lap and then in Jonathan’s apartment, but he isn’t sure he wants to confront any of his own feelings yet. He wants, very badly, to just leave all of his feelings alone, preferably until they go away. Maybe it’s a remnant from his upbringing, but by habit Jonathan will always go for the approach of bottling up his feelings. And when the bottle’s full, he’ll get a bigger bottle.

Edward’s wandering around the kitchen, making coffee and rubbing at where one shoulder’s sore from sleeping on the couch, and Jonathan’s struck by how domestic the scene looks. And curses himself for the thought.

Eventually Edward sets two mugs of coffee on the table, and turns to him. “I know you’re into me.” He says, unfairly nonchalantly. Jonathan opens his mouth, realises he doesn’t have any idea what he’s about to say, and shuts it again. “And that’s fair enough, I can’t blame you for that” he continues. “Sort of inevitable really -”

“If you’re going to reject me, can you please do it fast?” Jonathan interrupted. “Jerk your ego off some other time.”

Edward looked taken aback. For the first time since Jonathan had watched him beat that henchman to a bloody pulp, he seemed to lose his composure. “Who the hell said anything about rejection?” He snapped. “What the hell do you think I’ve been doing, flirting to make random strangers jealous?”

“You were flirting?” Jonathan asked, shocked.

“Yes!” Edward said. “Wasn’t exactly difficult to spot you might like me. That brilliant expression you get sometimes, when you sort of jolt like you’ve been lightly electrocuted, is pretty telling. That, and -”

He was cut off suddenly, when Jonathan backed him up against the edge of the kitchen table, and kissed him. He felt one of Jonathan’s long-fingered hands cup the back of his head, gentle but firm, and Jonathan’s lips on his, warm and insistent. Jonathan pulled away for a minute, slightly breathless. “Could have just told me, Eddie.”

Edward smiled, and hooked both arms over Jonathan’s shoulders. “But it was so much fun to leave you to try and figure it out on your own.”


End file.
